


Undertow

by xstarxchaserx



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Biting, Blood, Bottom!Will, CNC, Consensual Non-Consent, Copious Use of Slut, Date Rape Drug/Roofies, Dirty Talk, Drugs, Dubious Consent, Extremely Dubious Consent, Feelings, I promise, M/M, Name-Calling, This was all pre-negotiated, top!Hannibal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-10
Updated: 2018-01-10
Packaged: 2019-03-02 23:04:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,843
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13328301
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xstarxchaserx/pseuds/xstarxchaserx
Summary: What could possibly go wrong with allowing a gentleman to buy you a drink at a bar?





	Undertow

**Author's Note:**

> This story contains graphic depictions of what appears to be drug induced rape. I promise that everything was pre-negotiated, and there is a discussion at the end between the two of them about what that looks like and the feelings involved. 
> 
> Read at your own risk. 
> 
> [You can also find me on Tumblr!](http://www.xstarxchaserx.tumblr.com)

“I’ll have a whisky, neat please,” Will said as he finally caught the bartender’s attention. The nightclub was packed with people, the music loud and reverberating through his chest. He downed his drink in one swallow, grateful for the burn and the softness that it brought to all his sharp edges. He caught the eye of a man down the bar — well over 6ft tall, muscled, with hair that looked black and a smile that almost made Will’s skin crawl. 

He took the man’s offer of a dance, allowing himself to be pulled close, the brutish hands roaming over his skin tight jeans, pushing up the hem of his t-shirt to run meaty fingers over the band of his underwear. 

He excused himself after the song, ignoring the man’s protests and making his way to the bar again. The bartender smiled at him this time. 

“The gentleman at the end of the bar wanted me to pour you another whisky. He might be a bit old for you, but…”

“Make it top shelf,” Will replied with a wink.

“Sure thing,” the man replied.

He saluted the buyer of his drink before he knocked it back. Even if Will hadn’t seen the slight movements that indicated something being dropped into his drink, he would have noticed the shift in the taste of the whisky. It was slightly acrid, bitter almost, and easily missed among the burn if you weren’t looking for it. 

He made his way back to the dance floor, solo this time, and by the end of the song, he could feel the effects of the drug (drugs?) in his system. He was hot, much warmer than he should have been, and his clothes chaffed against his skin. He was aware of every inch of his body, of the way the lights played off his skin, the way his breath felt forced. 

He made his way to the back exit, groaning in relief when the cooler air hit his skin. He was sweating, his feet not working properly, smells and sounds ricocheting around in his head. When the hand covered his mouth from behind, he could hardly process the sensation, let alone fight back. 

He did struggle as he was dragged into the back of a car. He closed his eyes as the driver took off, the movement on top of everything else overwhelming him. He had no idea how he made it from the car into the well outfitted hotel suite, he only knew that the hands undressing him were familiar enough to make his fight or flight response relax fractionally. 

“That’s it,” the voice floated through his brain, lulling him further with it’s deep tones and lilting accent. “You know you want this…”

Will was hard and knew it. Every shift of his body made the sheets spark against him. The room seemed filled to brim with waves of music notes and heat. He felt pressure on his chest, naked skin against makes skin making will groan. His mouth was pushed open further, salt and velvet and heft settled onto his tongue, deeper, into his throat. The loss of air added to the high— fear just a background note on his senses, the movement in and out of his throat giving euphoria inducing small breaths before stripping them away again.

When his breath was given back to him completely, he almost sobbed. His face was slicked with spit and tears he hadn’t realized he’d shed, all wiped off on the pillowcase as he was flipped onto his stomach. 

Everything very quickly became too much. 

There were teeth biting into his shoulder, lubed fingers pushing into his entrance. He could smell his own blood, heartbeat echoing in his head, room throbbing with it in time with the thrusts of fingers against his prostate (how many now? Two? Three? He couldn’t tell, just that they were ripping him apart). 

He wanted to beg, to ask it to stop or continue, harder, less, more… None of the words worked, but the accented voice continued harshly.

“I saw the way you let that man put his _filthy_ hands on you, marking you with his scent. Did you like that? Did you like slumming? I bet you did, pitiful slut that you are. The way you were dressed tonight, begging for someone to take you, to fuck you like the whore that you are.” He punctuated the sentences with well times thrusts, creating an echo of emphasis in Will’s body and mind. “Lucky for you, I’m willing to slum a bit myself. Going to fill you up and fuck you now. I bet you’re going to be so loose, so used, I wonder if I’ll even feel anything.”

Will knew he wasn’t prepared enough, knew despite the words, that the blunt cock head pushing against his opening was going to _hurt_.

He was right, the pain broke through some of his fog as he was entered in one long, fluid thrust. There was no hesitation, no adjustment, just an immediate and bruising pace that pushed Will’s breath out of his chest in a deep whine. 

“That’s right, boy. Take all of it. Let me use you. Let go.”

Will his. His whines grew more frequent, pain and pleasure coalescing inside of him. He felt himself being lifted up, pressed back against a broad chest, his head lolling to the side, newly exposed skin immediately latched onto with teeth and tongue. The change in angle focused contact more directly on his prostate. He was close, so close, but couldn’t quite push over the edge. 

“You want to come, slut?” the voice said, low and dangerous. “Do you think you deserve that? You filthy boy. Really think you’re good enough to come on my cock? If you ask me nicely, maybe I’ll let you. Come on, pretty boy, beg me for it.”

It took years before Will could get his mouth to work, longer still before words actually formed in any coherent manner.

“Please… pp… please, let me come. Please.” He babbled, for how long he couldn’t know, but the desperation added a pitch to his voice he had never heard from himself. 

“I suppose you’ve been good enough,” the man said and wrapped long, musician’s fingers around Will’s cock. “Come for me, slut. Now.”

Everything crystallized, going exquisitely clear before shattering, and his vision went white as he came. He was vaguely aware of being dropped back to the bed, the hands on his hips gripping hard enough to bruise, the nails breaking skin. The thrusts got impossibly harder, erratic, then finally stilled with a loud groan above him. 

The room was silent except for panting breaths and the uncomfortable noises that come with separating two sweat and cum slicked bodies. Will must have drifted off because the next thing he knew, there was a soft, warm washcloth wiping him down. Soft hands rolled him gently and pulled him under the blankets. Strong arms, the same strong arms, wrapped around him and pulled him close. 

“Sleep, mylimasis. I’ll be here when you wake up.”

Will was almost asleep before he heard the whispered, “Thank you,” making a small smile roll across his lips as he fell asleep.

____________________

The next morning, Will woke in stages, aware of the warm bright sunlight filling the room, the press of a body against his back, not sleeping any more either. He was surprised he didn’t hurt more, dull aches and a throb in his shoulder and… well… other areas, all the reminders of the previous night’s activities. He remembered flashes, enough to piece together the aches and actions to make a fairly coherent image of the night.

He tried to speak, but his throat didn’t quite want to work. 

“There are two ibuprofen and a glass of water on the night stand that you should take.”

Will reluctantly pulled away from Hannibal, sitting up and stretching before doing what the doctor ordered. He drank the whole glass down and made his way to the bathroom. He caught sight of his reflection in the mirror and sucked in a breath. He was littered with bruises— the fingerprints on his hips, bites across his chest and back, and the one that broke skin on his shoulder that was sore but had been patched up some time while he slept. 

He found Hannibal sitting up in bed and immediately knew that something wasn’t right. 

“Did you not enjoy yourself?” Will asked.

“I- I don’t know how to answer that,” Hannibal replied after a moment of silence. “I’m afraid I was rougher that we had technically negotiated and worried that I may have… crossed a line.”

“Our negotiations consisted of me telling you I wanted you to roofie me at a bar, take me back here, and fuck me senseless. I feel like that’s precisely what happened.”

“I just… I wasn’t as in control as I think we both expected me to be.”

Will sighed. “Oh, you brilliant, stupid man.” He almost laughed at the expression on Hannibal’s face at his words. He waled over and climbed onto his lap, framing his waist with his knees and his face with his hands. “That’s exactly what I wanted. I wanted both of us to be able to let go, to take off our person suits, to just feel and act and _be._ ” 

As he spoke, he watched Hannibal’s eyes dilate, felt his breathing pick up and his cock start to fill out. He felt his own cock hardening as he rolled his hips and continued speaking. “You were perfect,” he whispered as he brought his lips closer to Hannibal’s. “I’d love to repeat the process… perhaps sober? In the daylight?” He paused. “Now?” He punctuated the request with a sharp nip to Hannibal’s lower lip. 

The effect was immediate. 

Hannibal bodily flipped them over, growling at the blankets that tangled around them. Will was grateful for the rough treatment the night before, still loose enough that Hannibal was able to push in without more than a cursory slick of spit on his cock. It hurt enough that will bared his teeth in a growl of his own to which Hannibal responded with a hand fisted in Will’s curls. He pulled his head to the side again and worried the bite mark with his teeth until it opened again and spilled more blood onto the sheets. 

Will covered his mouth with his hand to muffle a scream, but Hannibal quickly ripped it away.

“No, let me hear you. I want you to scream for me, Will. Let go. Let go for me.”

A moment later, Will broke, shouting his release. Hannibal followed him, coming with a rumbled moan, head buried in the crook of Will’s neck.

Will pulled him down, urging him to settle his weight on Will’s chest. It took time after their breaths settled before Will realized the wetness on his neck wasn’t just blood, but tears as well. 

He kissed Hannibal’s temple. “I love you. All of you.”

“And I you, mylimasis.”


End file.
